


Darkest

by Annie17851



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Angst, Character Death, F/M, Happy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-28
Updated: 2016-05-28
Packaged: 2018-07-10 18:12:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6999100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Annie17851/pseuds/Annie17851
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is truly the darkest day of her life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> There is mention here of Spike's actions in the episode Seeing Red, hence the rape tag. The actual thing is not described.

My throat tightened painfully as I scooped the ashes into a little pile. I had to be careful not to cry. I couldn't get them wet. The size of the pile was totally disproportionate to the amount of pain it caused.

I thought a lot of days were the darkest days of my life. They were merely gray, the shades of blackness and sorrow still to come only hinted at, tiny little jabs at my heart in an attempt to harden me. I was hard, I thought. I tried not to be.

The darkest day of my life was when Merrick, the unassuming little man, came to me at the end of a shallow school day and told me about the vampires.

The darkest day of my life was when my parents separated for good, almost a relief to be done with the constant fighting and tension, but still the end of my happy, secure family.

The darkest day of my life was when I had to move to a new town, new school, new people. New demons.

The darkest day of my life was when I realized that I could indeed be killed, even if only by a bit of water, forced upon me by a crazed master vampire with delusions of world dominance.

The darkest day of my life was when I had to run the man I loved through with a sword to save the world, throwing away any semblance of happiness I might have had.

The darkest day of my life was when my Mother left me, forever.

The darkest day of my life was when I threw myself from a tower into a confusing brew of dimensions to save my sister. And the world. Again.

The darkest day of my life was when they brought me back to my life, took me away from the calm and quiet that had become my existence.

 

The darkest days of my life were sunrises and rainbows, compared to this.

 

Of course, it was an accident; I would have never..well, maybe a year or two ago, I would have done it, without any kind of remorse. But now, the way we lived, in this uneasy truce of ours.. I still couldn't do it. I used to only scoff at the idea that he could actually love me. Not Spike. Not without a beating heart or at least a soul. But looking back, he had proved himself, numerous times, even when I was dead and he couldn't get any credit for it. Our little 'thing', for want of a better word, was so hurtful to both of us. Most especially to Spike. I had to finally recognize that he felt, or at least thought he felt, this all encompassing love for me. I couldn't return it. I couldn't risk that I would have to live that nightmare over again. Kill my love to save the world? Ludicrous.

Still, having done it once, I could never do it again, and would never put myself in a position where it might have come up.

That night in my bathroom burned in my memory more as a testament to the fruitlessness of any relationship we might have had. Yes, I was crushed by his actions, and yes, I understood where he was coming from in those moments. I have myself felt the desperation of love one cannot follow through with. I had to ultimately be the strong one. Had to stop it before it went down as the most unhealthy relationship in the history of the world.

But, still, the uneasy truce. There were far bigger things to deal with on the Hellmouth, and some nights he would just silently join me. Just show up beside me, not speaking, unable to find the words to say he was sorry about that night, and myself unable to find the words to make his hurt any worse than it already was. After several months of this, it was turning into an almost welcome routine. At least I had someone to watch my back.

I should have been more careful.

That night, they came all at once, from seemingly every direction, and we fought as we usually did, flinging vamps aside carelessly and throwing them to the ground to dust them triumphantly. There had been at least eight of them, and the fighting was so intense, I was lost in it. I don't know if I forgot he was with me, or just got lost in the heat of the battle, but I backed up from one vamp, and felt another just behind me, turning automatically to drive the stake through his back, into his heart. I impaled him so hard my hand actually touched the sweater he was wearing, and sudden horrible knowledge made me withdraw frantically, automatically kicking out behind me to get the other vampire away for a second. I ripped the stake out, turned, and, barely aiming, flung the stake at the other vamp, hitting my mark fatally, not waiting to see the explosion of dust.

By the time I turned back, Spike was gone.

One enemy vamp was left, and he took one look at my face and high tailed it out of there. I paid no attention, standing in shock and looking at the pile of dust I had made. That I had made with my own traitorous hand. On the darkest day of my life.


	2. Darkest 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back home with Spike's ashes. What to do?

I had to force myself to move before the wind picked up. Don't cry, don't cry, don't cry the mantra looped over and over in my head, as I scooped dust mindlessly, trying not to miss so much as a single precious grain. Fortunately, the dust was a different color from the bare earth it had fallen onto, but this was hard to see in the dark of the cemetery. Straining my eyes helped to keep the tears away. My vision kept blurring, though, with the unshed tears I had to hold back.

It was impossible. More than impossible it was senseless. Something made me do it. No idea what. Some little memory teasing inside my numbed brain.

I couldn't carry the dust, so I tore the linings out of the pockets of my jeans and gently scraped the tiny remnants inside. I held the pocket linings closed tightly as I hurried back to Revello Drive, hoping that I wouldn't run into any demons on the way. Fortunately, they must have all been hanging out at the cemetery.

Once safely inside the house, I slammed the door closed behind me and leaned against the wood, an image coming unbidden into my mind of myself, closing the door in Spike's face. He should have taken the hint, but by then it was already too late.

I started to shake, uncontrolled trembling taking over my body. I clutched the makeshift bags to my chest. Dawn came in from the kitchen just then, took one look at me and reached out to me.

"What is it, Buffy? What happened? What're these?" she asked in rapid succession, ready to grab the two little packages from my tight grip.

"Dawn," was all I could get out before the tears started to spill over onto my face. "Spike," I managed finally, speaking with difficulty. "It's Spike."

It took a second for her to grasp the situation, the state I was in, the parcels I held so tightly. Then her eyes widened in horror and disbelief.

"Spike?!" she cried piteously. "Not Spike! Buffy, how? What did you do?"

"Accident," I mumbled, starting to move around her to head for the kitchen; had to find something, something to put him in.

"What do you mean, accident?" she shrieked at me, as only she could.

"Shut up, Dawn," I told her, trying to sound firm, but the shake in my voice was uncontrollable. "We have to find something. I can't keep him in these."

She stared at me, dumbfounded as I headed down the hall away from her. I don't know how my legs were carrying me anymore. I was starting to feel numb all over, it was like when Mom died and I found her, but somehow worse because this was my fault.

Dawn was following me, throwing question after question at me, until I tuned her out completely, looking through the cabinets for something that wouldn't be too ludicrous. Something to put him in.

My vision was blurring again, and I wanted to sit down on the floor and let it all out, all the guilt and grief, but I couldn't. Dawn had finally realized I wasn't going to say anything more until I found something, so she started to look, too, tears on her face, sniffling. She reached for a tissue and then suddenly ripped them all out of the box, handing the empty cardboard container to me grimly.

I almost reached for it, then shook my head, turning back to a cabinet in which I was making a mess. I grabbed a small leftovers container, one that had an airtight seal, and went to the counter. My hands were shaking.

"Tupperware?" Dawn squeaked at me softly.

"Can't take a chance of losing any," I told her grimly, as I concentrated on transferring the soft, precious grains into the small white container. I scraped softly at the bits of cloth to make sure they held nothing back, and then secured the lid, finally sinking onto a counter stool in helpless weariness.

Dawn sat across from me and finally burst into tears, her face in her hands. I wanted to reach out and comfort her, but I had none to give. I didn't even have any for myself. I stared across the room, the view of the wall opposite me gradually getting washed out as my unshed tears made their escape down my face.

There was something to do, I kept thinking to myself. Xander would help if I asked him, even unwillingly, but I was afraid to call and even mention what had happened. I knew there was no real love lost between Willow and Spike, but with what had happened after Tara died, she was so delicate, so on the edge of losing it most of the time, I was reluctant to drag them into it. Xander had Will staying at his apartment, keeping an eye on her. He was lonely anyway, since Anya refused to take him back, and Willow was lonely too. She could have stayed with Dawn and me, but Willow and Xander needed each other. Even if they couldn't see it, I could.

I could call Anya at the shop, she might know what to do, and she would probably help. Couldn't bring myself to even think about calling Giles. There was no way I was ready to explain to him why I was so upset Spike was gone. I wouldn't even really explain it to myself.

I think it was the connection from Giles to his discomfort with my other vampire relationship that snapped the mind lock on the little thing gnawing at the back of my brain. I never realized I spoke out loud until Dawn eased her distracted weeping.

"What?'" she asked, raising her wet face from her hands to look at me, empathy in her eyes as she saw the tracks of the tears I had shed myself. "What did you say?"

I blinked saltiness from my eyes, wiping at my face with my shaky hands.

"Darla," I repeated.


	3. Darkest 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Asking for help.

I stared at the phone for an hour, wanting to make the call, but all the noise in my head would have prevented me from conversation anyway. You can't call, you can't do this, it's not the natural order of things. Tara couldn't come back, your Mother couldn't come back, only you get to come back; there WILL be consequences.

And my other little voice, running as undercurrent to the louder voices of reason. I want something for myself. Why do I have to constantly sacrifice everything? Can't I just have something, some kind of personal happiness. Don't I deserve it? Or have I already cashed in all my markers by having this unusually long life? Unlike all my Slayer ancestors, who met their fates at a much earlier age. Except, I had met my fate. Several times. Besides, since when was Spike something I wanted to have for mine. After I had broken it off with him, I had tried my damndest to push him away. Why was I now willing to break the laws of nature and risk whatever to get him back? I had Willow as an abject lesson as to why this was the baddest of ideas.

Somehow, it didn't matter.

Who would help me? Angel hated Spike; Willow was forbidden to be anywhere near any kind of magic; Xander hated Spike as well, although he would help if I asked him. Dawn would help without question. Giles would warn against it. Anya would help if asked, I thought.

I had to get the story, had to find out what had happened and how it had happened. I dug the little business card for Angel Investigations out of a drawer in the desk. Cordelia had sent it, proud of the fact that she had found a niche for herself. I picked up the phone

Just then Dawn came in from the kitchen, where she had been keeping watch over Spike's remains. "Who are you calling?" she asked, still a small sniffle detectable in her voice.

I put the phone back down again, and plunged right into it. Might as well get her reaction right from the start.

"Did I ever tell you about Darla?"

She nodded, interest piqued. "Just that she was Angel's sire and girlfriend for about forever, till she got dusted at the Bronze."

"Right," I agreed. "There's a bit more to the story, though. Spike told me that when Druscilla came back here to Sunnydale that last time, she told him that Darla had been 'mojoed' back from the dead, and that Angel had tried to burn them both up or something. I'm calling Angel and I'm going to make him tell me who did it and how."

I saw the tiny spark of hope in her eyes and almost cried again. But then it went away.

"Angel won't tell you," she said. "Angel hates Spike."

"But, he doesn't hate me. If I have to, I'll go to LA and make him tell."

"Good luck," she told me, quietly hopeful, as she went back to the kitchen counter.

My fingers were shaking as I dialed the number, and my brain went blank when I didn't recognize the voice of the female who answered at the other end. A voice, I might add, that sounded a bit frazzled.

"Is Cordelia there?" I asked uncertainly.

"No. Who is this? Do you know where she is?"

I frowned. "No, I don't know where she is, or I would call her somewhere else. Who is this?"

'This' was a woman with the unlikely name of Fred, who informed me that she and her co-worker had no idea where either Cordelia or Angel might be, and that Angel's son Connor was also among the missing.

The frown lines got deeper. "Son?" I repeated, thinking some nut case had walked into Angel's office and just answered his phone for the heck of it. And now I realized deep down how much I had changed over the last few years; how my experiences had grayed the line between good and evil. Once Angel was my life. Now I could hear about his having a son and being missing with no more than mild curiosity.

Fred sighed. "Long story. And who are you again?"

"Buffy Summers."

"Buff.." and then in an obvious aside to her unseen companion. "It's her! The Slayer!" She turned her attention back to me. "We don't know where they are. Cordy called and asked Angel to meet her, and no one has seen or heard from them since. And Connor disappeared right after that."

I had no intention of trying to get the, probably, extremely long explanation of why there was a Connor. And who his mother was, more to the point. Not wanting to deal with that whole sitch just then. I tried another tack.

"Can I speak to Wesley, then?"

Hesitation on the other end; I sensed it uncomfortably there in my house.

"Wesley isn't here..doesn't work here anymore," Fred told me.

Now that was damned odd. Angel's best prophecy-interpreter, not working there? Didn't want to hear that story either.

"Fred, can I have Wesley's number, if you know it?"

She did, and she gave it to me willingly, and I scribbled it on the back of the card with a pencil stub I located in the drawer. "But Wesley won't know where Angel is either, I'm pretty certain," she warned me.

"I'll take my chances," I said hurriedly, ready to just hang up. I changed my mind though. "Fred, when they get back from wherever, tell them I called."

"I, I will," she promised, and I thought her voice sounded like she was about to cry. Hmm. Bunches of goings-on in LA these days, I mused absently as I dialed the number she had given me.

"Yea," a rough-sounding voice answered the phone.

"Wesley," I asked tentatively. "Is that you?"

"Depends on who wants to know," he replied gruffly.

"Buffy. Buffy Summers."

"Ah, a voice from the dulcet past. Need a new Watcher? I'm not doing that anymore."

There was venom in his voice, and not necessarily directed at me. Something terrible must have happened in the City of Angels.

"You know I don't need a Watcher, Wesley. I need to know something, and it's information that I can probably only get from you or Angel."

"Oh, yes, Angel. The missing defender of all Mankind, or whatever. Well, I'm not telling you anything. I'm done helping."

When I spoke next my voice was lowered dangerously. I was getting impatient with the getting nowhere stuff. "Wesley, if you won't at least listen to me, I'm coming to LA and I guarantee you will tell me."

He laughed, unafraid. "Go ahead, tell me your woes, little Slayer. I can listen better than I can speak these days."

"I want the spell that brought Darla back after she was dusted. I want to know who did it, and how they did it. If you don't know, tell me who does."

"You want to bring Darla back?" he asked curiously. "It's been done, Buffy, and it didn't turn out well in the long run. I could relate for you such a tale of prophecies misread and gone wrong."

I interrupted him. "Not Darla. Spike. I want to bring Spike back."

He laughed shortly at that. "Spike?" he repeated in disbelief. "What, did you dust him and it felt so good that you want to do it again?"

"Why doesn't matter just now. Do you know the spell or not? Does Angel?"

"Angel would never help you bring Spike back. On the other hand, since that's true, then perhaps I will oblige. You will call me and let me know how it comes out? If you survive, I mean?"

"I'll survive," I assured him.

"Do you have e-mail?" he asked.

Of course, I didn't. I couldn't afford a computer and the internet on Double Meat Palace money, and Willow's laptop was with her at Xander's. A momentary guilt went through me. Something else Dawn should have, to be like the others kids - a computer. But Anya had e-mail at the shop, so I just gave him that. He promised to send it soon, and then laughed just a little bit as he hung up. Sounded to me like old Wesley Windham Price was losing it in LA.

I peeked into the kitchen, where Dawn was sitting at the counter, dawdling when she should have been getting ready for bed.

"Dawn, bedtime," I prodded her gently.

She rested her hand briefly on top of the little container. "Are we just going to leave him here? In the kitchen?"

I steered her into the hall toward the steps. "No, I'll put him somewhere safe," I promised, watching till she made her way to her room.

I called Anya and asked her to watch for my e-mail, then went back the kitchen myself, staring at the white plastic thing dejectedly, the doubts creeping to the forefront of my mind again.

"No," I told myself quietly. "I get to have something, too."


	4. Darkest 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Asking around for help.

DARKEST 3

By Annie

Rated: PG

Disclaimer: Once more with feeling, not mine.

Feedback: crehnert@ptd.net

 

As if the day hadn't been dark enough, now I had to face the night. I rested the small container in a corner of the nightstand drawer and closed it almost reverently, watching it disappear inch by inch as if I thought I would never see it again. As if, maybe, I should never see it again. That kind of thought tore me up quietly inside, so there wouldn't be any more of it.

Of course, I tossed and turned, finding myself several times with my hand reaching out to pull the little drawer open slowly, touch the coolness of the lid to reassure myself it still existed, was still safe. Wasn't a nightmare from which I would awaken all ready to greet a new sunny day.

By the time I heard Dawn's alarm going off down the hall, I was exhausted just from the rumblings in my brain, all the doubts of last night rearing their ugly heads in a huge conspiracy to keep me from sleep. They had succeeded brilliantly.

I left the container in the drawer, where I hoped it would be safe. No idea why it wouldn't be, and the ironic thought had entered my mind a tad giddily that Spike would have liked nothing better than to have the deluxe box seat in one of my bedroom drawers.

I told Dawn my plan over breakfast, and was assured she would do everything she could to help. I would have to think about that a bit, not sure I wanted her anywhere near a ritual. If push came to shove, and I needed her, I would cross that burning bridge when I came to it.

As soon as she was safely off to school, I got dressed and hurried to the Magic Box, anxious to see if Wesley was as good as his word.

Anya looked up brightly as I entered, the little bell tinkling above me (I hate that bell). When she saw it was me she turned down the charm noticeably.

"Oh, it's just you," she complained.

"Good morning to you, too, Anya," I replied brightly, heading directly for the office and her computer.

She sighed. "It's not like you're coming to purchase anything. You're just here to collect your e mail. Using my ink and paper with no remuneration whatsoever. It's there, all loaded up for you and printed out."

Well, Anya was Anya. I knew she didn't mean it exactly the way she said it, and at the moment I didn't care.

Wes had indeed come through. The spell was there, two pages of instructions and incantations, notations about being so very careful, reminders to call him when it was all over and let him know what had transpired. My hands were shaking, and I had to question myself one last time.

Burn the papers? Forget the spell? Remember Willow?

Remember Spike?

No, I was most definitely going to do this. It wasn't as if I had power like Willow, something to become addicted to; I was just trying to cast one measly spell, first time in my life ever, if you don't count that enjoining spell when we fought Adam.

I turned to see Anya in the doorway. I didn't think she ever actually wandered quite this far away from the cash register.

"Since it's my supplies you are using, I feel I should ask, what's going on? Has anything happened? Is everyone okay? Do you need a vengeance wish?"

"Xander is fine, Anya, in case it's him you're worried about, and the rest of us, too. It's just.I had an accident yesterday.."

I proceeded to explain both the problem and the solution to her.

"Buffy, these kinds of rituals can end badly for humans. I once saw a man try to raise his pet Quahog demon, and it was very messy. I did try to warn them when they were resurrecting you, and you know how that all turned out, you being all grave and hating it here, you never would have boinked Spike if.."

I stopped her with a look.

"Yay or nay on this Anya," I insisted. "I don't have time right now. And as for 'boinking' Spike, I think you're a card carrying ex member of that club, too."

She covered a bit of huffiness then, I could tell. "Oh, I never said I wouldn't help," she smiled her hey I'm human smile. "Besides, Xander won't like it. I'm in!"

"Thank you. I have a bunch of things to do. Meet me at Spike's crypt tonight. I'll call and let you know when."

Yes, Xander would hate it. He would have to get over it.

I read over the papers as I made my way to Xander's apartment, barely watching where I was walking, making a mental tally of everything I would need to do and get. I would need his help, and others, too, it seemed.

Willow answered the door at Casa Harris and we hugged warmly. We had gotten so close to losing Willow forever, and now that she was truly on the road to recovery, I refused to risk her involvement.

"You want some tea, Buffy? Maybe a pancake or two to go along? I'm late making breakfast today, Xander has the day off and so he slept in."

"Tea is good," I replied. "And I need to talk to Xander, Will. Alone."

I didn't want to hurt her feelings, hated to cause her any kind of pain at all, and I wondered sickly how she had really felt inside when she lost Tara for good. They had loved each other so much, and had both admitted it and acted on it. Unlike other stubborn people who never knew a thing until some stupid accident turned one of them into ashes.

Willow wasn't an idiot, she already sensed that the something I needed Xander for involved magic. We never let her be privilege to any of those conversations. For her own good and the good of others.

She poured the tea and smiled slightly, understanding. "I'll just go and call him. Come and say bye before you leave, okay?"

"Of course I will," I promised, reaching across to squeeze her hand. She looked a bit subdued as she went to get Xander, and my heart went out to her, like it always did when we had to exclude her.

"Buffster," Xander hailed me enthusiastically, heading for the fridge and a huge glass of what looked like fruit punch. "What brings you out so early? Easy night of slayage?"

He turned around then and saw the look on my face.

"Who died?"

"Spike. Spike died," I told him softly, fighting back tears successfully. I would ask him for help but I wouldn't break down in front of him. Not knowing the way he felt about Spike, more so now than ever.

"Spike died again, you mean." He corrected me. "To whom do we owe the thank you card?"

"I did it, Xander." That quiet admission seemed to take the wind out of him for a second."

"Buffy, why now? After all this time? What's the deal here?"

I looked at him firmly. "The deal is, I staked him accidentally. And you are going to help me bring him back on purpose. You, Anya and me. Tonight."

Xander just shook his head. "Let me get this straight now you want to bring back the guy who tried to rape you on your own bathroom floor? The guy who has killed countless innocent people? The very guy who came to Sunnydale to make you the third notch on his Slayer pelt count? I don't think so! I, for one, am more than happy to face life without that blond psycho vamp lurking around every corner of my life.."

I stood up, then, not wanting to waste time arguing. "Xander, I know you just see Spike as a monster, and yeah, okay, he is one, but I don't care. I am not spending the time I need to get supplies together explaining things to you. I'm tired of following rules that won't let me have one single moment of happiness. I need you to help me, and we are doing it tonight. I can't involve Willow, so my options are very limited. This is the way it is. I need white paint. I need five long pieces of good strong chain and five of some kind of anchors that we can drill into cement to hold the ends. I need a wooden box, not very big, maybe crate size. Get the stuff and meet me at Spike's crypt as soon as you can. I'll round up the five vampires I need as soon as the sun goes down. Are you in or are you out?" I demanded.

Xander raised his hands in surrender. "I'm in. Can't let you raise the demon thing all alone, I guess. But, Buffy, have you really thought this through? You know how these things can go."

But I was determined. "What's the worst that could happen?" I asked.

I would soon be finding out.


	5. Darkest 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spells usually have a downside.

It was harder than you would think to gather up five vampires without turning them into dust. I had to search out two different nests to accomplish this, and then beat the tar out of them and keep them in line with a crucifix all the way back to Spike's crypt. One at a time, so it took longer than I had planned.

I had told Xander to get to Spike's as soon as he gathered all the necessities, and had called Anya to ask her to meet us at midnight. Anya was glad for the timing, as she wouldn't have to close the shop to any potential customers. Despite Dawn's protests, she was safely tucked away with Willow, and was probably filling her in on all the details. Willow would have to be told eventually anyway, but I knew she would be itching to be here.

I had the large wooden crate Xander had supplied in the middle of Spike's floor, sitting on top of the five pointed star I had painted in white earlier. At each point of the star, Xander had used a cement drill to anchor steel rings into the floor. The five lengths of chain went from the floor rings, around the feet of the vampires, around their wrists and were then attached to the crate with padlocks, which I had purchased as an afterthought.

Anya's job was to circle the whole set up, with the crucifix constantly in sight of the vamps, as a warning to stay where they were. She also had a stake, as did Xander and I, although I had no intention of our using them. We needed these five vamps and if I had to break their legs to keep them here, I would.

Of course, with that thought came the one that should logically follow; here I was, ready to sacrifice five vampires I should have slain for one I also should have slain. It was, after all, my duty in life.

Duty was beginning to be a dirty word for me.

I had been listening to the far off rumbling of thunder the whole evening, and I realized now that the storm had just reached Sunnydale, counterpoint to the Black Arts we were about to perform. I should have taken it as an omen. But we were ready now, and I wouldn't let any logic invade my resolve.

"So, we're ready?" I asked out loud, even though I knew we were.

Anya, walking the circle assigned to her nervously, trying to stay out of the reach of any fangs or mesmerizing gazes, nodded anxiously.

"I don't know why I let you people talk me into this," she complained. "I'm sure we could find you another nasty tempered demon to consort with."

"I agree," Xander told me quietly. "Buffy, are you absolutely sure you want to do this? I have registered my opinion more than once today, and it hasn't changed."

I was absolutely sure. And I wasn't. A loud clap of thunder reverberated through the dark walls of the crypt, which was only lighted by some of Spike's candles. There had been no moon, and even if there had been, the storm clouds would have blacked it out anyway. I looked around for a second, looked at the crate, wherein lay the grainy remains of a thing I was supposed to hate. Looked at the five sacrificial vamps, rationalizing that since I was supposed to slay them anyway, it probably didn't matter much how they met their end. Looked at Xander and Anya, seeing the doubt in their eyes, thankful still for the friendship and love that made them help me. Looked back to the crate once more, heart starting to pound, wanting more than anything to see the sarcastic sneer once more, the raise of an eyebrow that could speak volumes to me, the gaze that could look into mine and know what I felt even if I said something different.

"I'm sure," I told them, as the rumble of the thunderclap faded away and another one started gaining momentum in the distance. I started reading aloud from the papers in my hand. Hard to do by candlelight, but I had already practically memorized it, and Xander had a copy as well, for his part.

"As it was written, they shall prepare the way and the very gate of hell shall open. That which is above shall tremble, for that which is below shall arise. And the world shall know the beast shall know the world."

The crypt seemed to tremble with the force of the thunder just then. Probably not an altogether good sign.

I walked to each of the five captive vampires in turn, reciting the words, Xander taking his cue from me, Anya following closely at my heels with the crucifix, to discourage the vampires from trying anything rash.

"Five are without breath," I said at the first point of the star.

"Yet they live," Xander answered.

"Five are without time," for the second.

"Yet they live."

"Five are without soul."

"Yet they live."

"Five are without sun."

"Yet they live."

"Five are dead."

"Yet they live."

I was standing at the head of the crate now, and finished the ritual shakily, aware of the growing thunder and lightening outside.

"And the five shall be a sacrifice, and the one who is dead shall live. Even as life and death are not two things but one, in darkness is the light, in light is the darkness. Arise! Arise! Arise! Arise! Arise! Arise!"

Horrific thunder and lightening punctuated the end of the spell. The five vampires exploded simultaneously into dust, and the floor of the crypt began to tremble. A huge whirlwind formed out of nowhere, tracking its' way around the perimeter of the crate and gathering all the newly formed demon dust in its' wake, then sucking into the seams at the edges of the crate, taking all the vamp dust with it.

A ring of furious light radiated intensely from the box, throwing the three of us across the crypt.

All was silent then, except for the continued rumble of thunder in the cemetery outside, lessening in intensity as it started to move away to inundate the next town.

"Anya, Xander!" I called. "Are you all right?"

Xander was helping Anya to her feet, brushing her off lightly, then himself. I did the same.

"I guess we'll be all right, as long as that spell didn't do something crazy, like open the Hellmouth. It's just popped into my head that maybe we should have checked that with Wes before we went all hog wild with the magic."

"The spell wasn't written for the purpose of opening the Hellmouth," I mumbled, walking slowly closer to inspect the crate. It looked the same, but in the dim candlelight it was hard to be sure. Xander was about to say something else, but I raised my hand for silence, peripherally catching sight of him picking up his stake from the floor, where it had landed when the light threw us around. I looked back at him sharply, warningly, and he put it back down. Reluctantly.

I was only about two feet away from the crate when the top flew upward in thousands of wooden bits and pieces, and with a roar that sounded anguished, Spike was there.

A very naked, very confused Spike. Spike in vamp face.

"Spike, it's all right..." I started to say, but he launched himself out of the box and toppled me onto the floor effortlessly. It wasn't a welcome back hug. He was on the attack. I threw a few punches and managed to crawl out from under him, kicking him away frantically, disturbingly reminiscent of a few weeks ago in my bathroom. Xander had retrieved his stake after all, and Anya was looking around dazedly for her crucifix.

"Xander, no!," I shouted, but as he approached Spike, the newly resurrected vampire lashed out with his feet, using that momentum to both knock Xander down and get himself up from the floor. Xander went after him again with the stake, heedless of my warnings, but Spike fought back. The incongruous sight, in the candlelight, of a naked Spike fighting with Xander, no holds barred it seemed, registered on my brain as a very weird thing, and I thought at first it was the lack of clothes that was strange. But then it hit me suddenly, even as Anya, finally locating her crucifix, ran over and bashed Spike on the head with it, that Spike was fighting with Xander. Spike was punching and kicking a human and he was not having a migraine at the same time.

The cross burned him, and he turned, still in vamp face, flinging Anya away from him to slam into a stone wall and fall unconscious to the floor.

Spike, having knocked Xander down once more, stepped on his throat to hold him there. Frozen in place, not comprehending what could have gone wrong, I watched Xander trying to reach his fallen stake, which he was in no position to use anyway. I looked up into Spike's face, his snarly vamp face.

"Spike," I tried, but he growled once more and then fled from the crypt, into the wet night.

I went to Anya then, and picked her head up to put it on my lap. She was breathing, so she was probably going to be okay, but I couldn't shake the sight of Spike and Xander fighting.

"I'm sorry, Anya," I whispered, as I felt the tears start to make their way down my face.

At least I knew what the consequence of my magic was; Spike had come back without his chip. People would die.

I would have to destroy him.

This was the darkest day of my life.


	6. Darkest 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trying to find Spike and figuring out what went wrong.

I had failed. And miserably, at best.

I sent Anya and Xander back to his place as fast as they could go, hoping Spike would be in too confused a state of mind to think of going there, endangering Dawn and Willow. Vamps always arose hungry, and nothing in William the Bloody's past led me to believe he would refrain from feeding at the first possible opportunity. I had to track him down.

It was my fault, my selfish, dark fault.

I urged them to hurry, trying not to see the 'I told you so' in Xander's eyes and the pity in Anya's.

As soon as they left, I started to search the cemetery, all the while running the spell through my head over and over. I hadn't missed anything. I did everything right. Now it felt so wrong.

I found myself right at the place I had started this debacle from; the spot where it had all happened. Something to be said about coming full circle. Somehow, without even consciously thinking about it, I was on my hands and knees, crawling through the wet grass and soft dirt, looking, incredibly, for the chip.

It was only twenty four hours ago, I was telling myself. I don't even know where the thought had come from. Desperation, I would think. Find the chip, somehow. Get it put back into Spike, somehow. Except, number one, he would never allow it, and number two, there wasn't anyone to do it. Plus, I couldn't find the damn thing.

It had to be here. Why would it turn to dust just because Spike did? I hadn't been looking for it last night, it hadn't even crossed my mind, but now I was thinking. The chip would have simply fallen to the ground when he turned to dust. It will be laying around here somewhere, tiny little salvation hidden in the grass among the tombstones. My salvation if I could manage to find it. And manage to subdue Spike. And track Riley down to see if he knew anyone who could perform the procedure.

I laughed out loud at that. Like Riley would help me with Spike.

I found it. Amazingly, I found it. I was running my fingers through the grass frantically, and suddenly realized I had just felt something hard and cold under my brushing fingers. I stopped dead, and backtracked my left hand slowly. And there it was.

Tiny little piece of titanium, or whatever they were using to construct mind control chips out of these days. Very small, like a fly or something, and no hint of where it had come from. Another day or two, and it would have likely been crushed unnoticed beneath some grief stricken funeral attendee's shoe.

All I had to do now was find Spike. It was apparent that he wasn't in the cemetery, and I even went back to check his crypt, thinking he might have gone there after the three of us left. He must be cruising the town, and the thought sickened me, the awful, stomach turning feeling of knowing I had done this. My hand tightened on the polished, pointed wood.

No more for me. After this, no more relationships, no lovers. No one. Maybe that's why the Slayer was always alone. Maybe it was part of the requirement for being the Chosen One. Nice that they had added a clause like that to the contract and not told anyone. Well, except by action anyway. I know all my lovers were null and void.

I headed back to the apartment slowly, checking all the normal vamp haunts on the way. Nothing. When I got to Xander's I was greeted by the sight of a weeping Dawn, crying in Willow's arms on the couch.

"I'm sorry, Dawn. I tried." I said in an attempt to make either her or myself feel better. I wasn't sure. I didn't think I could feel much worse. "Look," I told them. "I found the chip."

Xander snorted. "Yea, Buff, I'm sure Spike will come looking for that. After he gets all sick and tired of being the Big Bad again!"

"Xander!" Willow reprimanded, but I held up a hand to her.

"Xander's right, Will. I shouldn't have done it. I just can't figure out what went wrong. I have to call Wesley."

Wes, of course, was pretty much unappreciative at being dragged from bed to answer the phone. He did manage to perk up when I told him what had happened.

"That's very strange," he mused in that funny sounding raspiness he had acquired sometime since he left Sunnydale. I wanted to ask him about it, but thought it might not be a good idea. Also, I didn't care very much.

"Yes, it is strange," I repeated, a bit accusingly, I think. "I did everything you said in your e mail. I had all the stuff; the five vamps, the star on the floor, all the words were spoken correctly."

"The oil mixed with the blood, and on and on, I know the drill, Buffy." He interrupted me.

My own blood went cold just then. "The what mixed with the what?"

Silence at the other end of the phone line. Then; "You did the anointing the crate with the oil thing, right? Mixed with the blood of the living?"

"What the hell are you talking about, Wesley? You never said anything about any oil or any blood!"

The others were looking at me with slowly dawning understanding on their faces.

"I certainly did," Wesley defended himself. "I would never have sent you an incomplete or misleading spell. It should have been the first thing on page 3, 'anoint the crate with pure oil and the blood of the living'.."

Now I interrupted him, pulling the sheets of paper from my back pocket and looking at then incredulously. "There is no page 3! Two pages, Wesley! Page 1.Page 2. That's it!"

He sighed audibly. "Well, what I sent to you would need three pages to print. Obviously there is something wrong with your printer, maybe ran out of paper or something. If you had done the spell correctly, Spike would have returned as a human. A mightily confused one, but a human nonetheless. Guess it's a good thing he has that chip in his head..he does still have the chip in his head?"

"Totally chipless. Totally not human," I told him wearily. I couldn't even begin to tell him how much Spike would have hated coming back as a human. After being Spike for 120 odd years? "Bye, Wesley, and thanks for all your help. I'll take care of things here."

I hung up. "I am the Slayer, after all." I said to no one in particular.

Anya was practically shaking with the need to keep the blame from herself. "It's that cheap printer Giles bought. I know it! I told him not to skimp on the office accessories."

"Forget it, Anya." I mumbled. I went into the kitchen and grabbed a coffee mug from the cupboard, placing the chip in it and bringing it in to Dawn.

"Don't let anything happen to this," I admonished her. Little bits of Spike, last night and again tonight, all kept safely tucked away in kitchenware.

I went to the small wooden cabinet where I knew Xander kept spare stakes, taking two of them out to arm myself. "The sun will be up soon," I observed. "I think I might know where Spike is. I'll either be back, or I won't."


	7. Darkest 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A happy ending, some physical activity and a nice Spuffy conversation.

I stood in front of the place for quite a long time, while the sun rose all around me. I knew from experience that it would be dark and gloomy inside anyway, which is the reason Angel had bought it in the first place. Still owned it, as far as I knew. And I hadn't set foot inside the mansion since he had left for LA.

But I knew Spike was in there. I could feel him. I also knew that he could feel me, so there wasn't any point in stealth. I held a stake in each hand, and my grip tightened on them imperceptibly as I got closer to the back entrance, the one through which I had gone all those times to find Angel quietly reading in front of the fireplace. Didn't think there was any reading going on in there now.

It was as dark inside as I expected in the dawn of a new day. Didn't matter how sunny it would be today, darkness enveloped me, swallowed me, ate me whole until all I had left inside was this incredibly empty sense of failure.

I had just entered the room where the huge fireplace was when his voice broke into the darkness calmly.

"Smelled ya' coming, Slayer. Felt ya' coming a mile before that. What the fuck have you done?"

"I just. I wanted." I started to speak, but the sight of him as he emerged into clearer view from his stance next to the big hearth stopped the words in my throat. He was so - powerful. He'd gotten clothes, of course, black jeans and a black shirt. His feet were bare, and the buttons on the shirt were open, the exposed skin and his hair standing out eerily in the grayness surrounding us. He looked angry. I loved him so much just at that minute and I was scared. I wouldn't be able to do it again, and The Big Bad would bag his third Slayer today.

"You staked me," he stated simply, taking a slow step toward me. "It hurt like all Hell. I'm thinking it must have been an accident, especially as I've been brought back. Don't know how you did it, or even why, but that hurt like Hell, too."

"Spike," I wanted to explain, but he wasn't finished.

"Do you have any idea how bloody awful that was? You, of all people, should know that resurrections usually don't go well, Pet. Except I wasn't in anything resembling Heaven, so I should be grateful. Somehow, I'm not. I was on a good run there for a while, barring a mistake or two the last few months. When you brought me back, however you did it, it was like the first time I woke as a vampire. I was starving, desperate," he put a fist on his chest. "You don't understand that bloodlust, how driving it is, how hard I've tried to get over it and be content with my refrigerated meals."

He took another step closer, and my heart was pounding by then.

"I'm starving now. Mostly because I couldn't drink from the two or three people I happened on last night."

I frowned. "You couldn't attack anyone? But you attacked us in your crypt as soon as you came back."

He smiled darkly. "Nature of the beast, Luv. I didn't even know who, or where, I was. It took a few hours, but it all came rushing back. So, tell me your tale, little Slayer, and try to distract me from this feeling in my gut."

So, I told him the whole story; my accidentally staking him; gathering the dust and taking it home so carefully; stashing it safely away.

He raised an eyebrow at that bit. "So, what? Wouldn't spring for the gold cigarette case? Put me away like leftovers?"

"I wanted to make sure we wouldn't lose any. Then I remembered how you said Darla had gotten brought back, so I called Angel."

"Nancy Boy knows you staked me? Bloody hell, Slayer, couldn't you leave me just a bit of dignity?"

I explained about the phone calls to LA, and the spell, and how it had gotten so mucked up. How it was all my fault.

"You're bloody right about that," he agreed. "And now for the $64.000 question what happened to my brain? I attacked Anya and the lamebrain in the crypt and the chip never fired off. But I still couldn't attack those other people. What did you do to me?"

Now I stepped toward him. "Spike, the chip didn't reappear in your head when we brought you back. I have the chip. I found it on the ground where....I have it. If you couldn't attack anyone, believe me, it's not the chip. It has to be you yourself."

He laughed shortly. "Oh, right, that's it, then. I've come back wrong! You cast a spell to bring me back and you fucked it up! So, here I am again, not a man, not a monster, some kind of something stuck in between."

"We'll figure it out, Spike, we will. Is it so bad, that you can't attack people? You haven't been able to anyway for so long. You can still drink your bags of blood.." As I spoke I was moving closer to him and he was eyeing the two stakes I still held.

"You're not getting it, Buffy," he tried to explain. "I want to be able to attack. That's my nature. If there's no chip in here," he said poking the side of his head, "then that means there's something else stopping me. Why do you have the pointy sticks? You came here to dust me again, didn't you? You bloody bitch! This is all your fault, you're right about that!"

He put his black clad arms out to the side and looked down at his chest.

"So have at it, Slayer! Do your worst!"

He looked back up at me then, anger on his face, trying to hide the desperation I knew he was feeling. He had grown so used to being good, to trying to be good for me that now he couldn't find it in his stilled heart to be bad.

His eyes were so startlingly blue in the dimness that I almost couldn't breathe. And there was something else, something darker in his eyes, the desire I recognized from those times we had been together. The few times I had actually looked at him, at Spike, making love to me, without trying to distance myself from the fact that I was there. It came to me with sudden, blinding clarity that I wouldn't need the stakes, that no matter what, chip or not, he was incapable of killing me. He had truly stopped himself from being the Big Bad, and blamed it on a minute piece of technology whose power supply was probably ready to give out any day.

"Well, come on, Slayer! Do me if that's what you came for! I'm useless anyway. No good to me. No good to you. Go for it!"

I saw his nostrils flare slightly as I got even closer, and I threw the two stakes onto the floor carelessly. I knew him better than he knew himself now, and I would prove it.

"You can smell it, can't you, Spike? My blood. In my veins. Hot. Tasty. I know you can. Do you want it? Are you hungry? Here, feel it."

I reached out and grasped one of his hands, placing it on my throat. I could feel his fingers, trembling, feeling the pulsing blood beneath them. His eyes were even darker now, and I moved closer yet, almost touching his body with mine. I was unafraid, sure in my own knowledge, my own intuition.

"Slayer," he said, in a voice that sounded like it could barely make its' way out of him. "Don't do this. You have no idea how dangerous this game is."

"Not playing," I informed him softly. I reached up again and placed one of my hands on the back of his head, pulling it down to me. He resisted, but I could tell it was weak resistance at best. I pulled harder, forcing his face into my neck, leaning my body against his. My heart was pounding and it must have been driving him insane, this pulsating, rushing blood, right here at his fingertips, bare inches from his mouth.

"Buffy," he managed, in a voice strangled with want. I could feel it, in the tension of his body, in the erection I could feel against me.

"Take it, if you really want it," I teased him, tiny doubt forming as he placed his cold tongue exactly on the place where my pulse beat. His body stiffened, froze, I could sense the two different needs warring within him, the physical desire he had for me and the demonic need for my blood.

Without warning, I found myself flying across the room. He had pushed me away frantically. He had gone into vamp mode now, and he stormed around the big room, throwing what little furniture there was, smashing it against the walls.

"Why are you doing this to me?" he raged. "Why can't I just kill you and get away from here?"

"Because you can't do it anymore," I shouted at him. "Don't you see? You don't even have the chip anymore and you still can't hurt me. And you didn't hurt anyone else. Can't you just accept the fact that maybe you've changed? That maybe you never were the Big Bad at all, and just acted that way to keep Dru around? Because you didn't have anyone else."

He stalked toward me in the dim room, de-vamped now, and pulled me off my feet by the front of my shirt. "I never had anyone. I never will." He stated grimly. He put me down roughly and walked away again, back across the room. Safely away from me. "Chip or no chip, I'm still useless, except for helping your little Scooby gang with demons and such. Go home, Slayer. Go home to your friends and the Little Bit, where you belong."

I wasn't leaving without making myself clear. "You're wrong, Spike. You're not useless, and you do have someone. Much as I've denied it in the past, you have me. I don't know why, because I should have staked you three or four years ago. Now it's too late. Too late for me and too late for you. We're stuck with each other. You say you love me. You just proved it."

"So, all of a sudden, you believe me. After all this time?" He was incredulous that I had said it, that I believed him. "And what, I'm supposed to be the good dog now? You still don't get it! I like being bad! I can be bad!"

He was back to my side of the room in a few long strides, and I suddenly found myself up against the wall, arms pinned to my sides, cool, muscular body leaning into mine, eyes of dark ice barely inches from my own. "I can be bad," he repeated in a whisper. "I know it. You bloody well know it, Slayer."

I shook my head slightly, never letting my gaze leave his, driven to distraction by the familiar feel of his body on mine. I could almost see the internal struggle he was waging; the want to be bad versus the desire and love, could see the brief flicker of change in his eyes when he decided he would show me the bad.

I didn't struggle. I wanted to prove to him that he wouldn't hurt me. And, gods help me, I wanted him. It had been so long, and my body had missed him so much. He dipped his head to my neck, licking, following the track of the hot pulsing there beneath my skin. I gasped involuntarily, and heard the little snicker deep in his throat. He pressed me harder into the wall, the tantalizing feel of his cock heating my insides into roiling fire. He nipped the skin of my throat lightly, groaning with pleasure, his hands traveling to mine to entwine our fingers and grip me tightly. So tightly it hurt, and I almost cried out, but it felt so good at the same time. I instinctively pulled away from his face a bit in response to the gentle bite. Even though I was sure he wouldn't go as far as to drain me, kill me, I knew from experience what an incredibly sensual thing this was, this feeding of the body that reached far beyond anything resembling an appetite for food. What he was doing right now was different from all our other times together. All those times we had practically beaten each other into unconsciousness and trashed his crypt in the search for great sex. This was pure need on his part, the need to fill that ravenous hunger he had when he returned from dust. I wanted, no needed, to give him something, some modicum of love and trust so he could prove himself.

I moaned and ground my hips against his. "Do it," I told him softly. "Do it if you can."

More groaning from him, and he pushed harder against me now. I could feel the wetness between my legs and would have tossed him to the floor and ravaged him if I hadn't wanted to prove a point. I wanted to tear off my clothes so I could feel myself touch his smooth, cool skin.

I sensed him vamping even though I couldn't see him, not with his face buried in my neck. But I knew, and I felt the sharpness as he grazed my skin. It excited me, and I moved in closer to him, uncontrollably, breath becoming ragged, trying to get my hands away from his so I could reach down and touch him. He wouldn't let them go, and even that excited me. He pressed against me again, at the same time slipping fangs into my throat just the slightest bit, tiniest little pull against the flow of my blood so he could taste me, just enough for me to feel. Just enough to send me over the edge into an orgasm so intense he had to hold me up.

He released my arms then and kissed me, softly, running his hands all over me, all the places he could reach, removing my clothes slowly.

"Spike," I tried to speak, but he wouldn't release my mouth. I reached to take his clothes off and we stood there, against the wall, making love slowly instead of frantically pawing at each other like we usually had done before. I climbed up onto him, legs wrapped around him tightly, and put my hands on the sides of his face, his wonderful face, looking into the dark eyes that were no longer icy. I leaned down to kiss him hungrily, and he thrust up into me, cold marble filling my hot insides, finally. I ground my hips on him mindlessly, shuddering again through my whole body, as he spent himself inside me, moaning into my mouth, whispering my name over and over.

We stayed there, like that, standing against the wall. I have no idea where he found the strength to stand and hold me, but that was Spike. I kissed his face softly, regaining my breath, and he waited patiently till I was ready to be put down.

"I told you," he said, examining the two small marks on my throat. "I told you I could be bad. I wanted to taste your blood and I did. As soon as I had you near me, without that sodding chip, I did."

"No, you didn't." I argued. "You did something that comes naturally to you, something that has been denied to you for years. But you didn't hurt me. You tried once before, but you did stop. And even that wasn't about trying to hurt me. You were trying to be close to me the only way I'd ever let you. But am I dead? Drained? Vamped? You tell me how you can hurt me now."

"I can't hurt you because I love you, Pet. You know that. I can still be bad."

"You didn't love those two or three people you tried to attack last night, did you? I know you've changed Spike. You just proved it yourself. I'm so sure, I let you bite me, because I knew it would be nothing more than a little foreplay. Which works very well, by the way, just in case you didn't notice."

"I noticed." He replied, looking around for his clothes, throwing mine to me and locating a cigarette for himself. He stopped to light the smoke even before he pulled his jeans back on, squinting at me through the rising smoke. "I told you, Buffy. You belong with me, in the dark. I'm bad. And you like it, whether you want to or not. That's what you just proved to me."

"You'll see, Spike." I warned him, putting my own clothes back on, then walking over to meet him in the middle of the big, dim room. "You'll see, when you go out to hunt and can't. When you see you're stuck drinking butcher's blood the rest of your days."

He exhaled smoke upward, then looked back down at me challengingly. "Think so, Luv? I think you're wrong. I like it here, where it's dark. I like you here with me and I think you like it more than you'll admit. Even to yourself. What draws you to me? What drew you to Angel? Even G.I. Finn had a secret agenda when you started to get interested in him. You like it dark, you'll come round to my way of thinking."

"Well, that remains to be seen, William," I replied deliberately. "As for the right now, I suppose you're going back to your crypt at sundown. I'll bring your chip, if you want to talk about it."

He leaned in closer to kiss me hungrily, discarding the cigarette to put his arms around me and pull me close. The man was insatiable.

He pulled back and put a cool hand over the two little marks on my throat. "As for the right now, Luv, I think I'll get Clem to help me bring my things over here. The Ponce shouldn't leave nice digs like this empty, and come the time you decide to join me, which you will, we'll have plenty of room. Something tells me Angelus is never coming back to Sunnydale anyway. Go home now, tell your mates we both survived the encounter. As for that sodding chip, you just hang onto that for a bit."

"In case I'm wrong?" I asked quietly.

He smiled then, an actual smile. "No, in case I feel the need to destroy it. I'll know where it is. Wouldn't want anyone sneaking up behind me and slipping the bugger back inside, would we?"

I nodded as I headed for the door. "Whatever you say, Spike."

But deep down, way in the darkest reaches of my heart and soul, I knew the Big Bad had, sometime, somehow, ceased to exist.


End file.
